


Could We Ever Be Enough?

by babywereperfect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Don't worry because as you can see from the other tags it all works out, Drunk Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Sleepy Cuddles, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babywereperfect/pseuds/babywereperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Zayn can’t stop himself; he reaches up to catch Harry’s face in his hand before he can settle himself back against the pillows. Zayn watches Harry’s eyes search his face, flicking from his eyes, to his mouth, to his throat, and back up to his eyes. Zayn holds his gaze as his fingers trace Harry’s sharp jawline, and as his thumb rubs across Harry’s plump bottom lip, Harry looks like he’s truly been caught off guard for once in his life.</i>
</p><p>Or, Zayn lets Harry blow him when they're drunk on tour and he can't go on pretending he didn't like it, especially when Harry gives him butterflies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could We Ever Be Enough?

Zayn carefully pushes back the curtain around the spare bunk on Harry’s bus. He usually shares a bus with Louis, but decided to be a good friend and give Louis an opportunity to get to know the girl he was dancing with all night a little more… intimately. They’d all just come from a big after party, so Zayn doesn’t mind being uprooted too much. Especially since he’s a little drunk. He makes a move to get into the bunk and whacks his head on the low ceiling. Okay, maybe he’s more than a little drunk.

He lies down and massages his forehead, trying to ignore a totally different ache. Zayn’s always been a horny drunk, and having all those girls at the after party grinding up on him and trying to get his number didn’t help at all. He probably could have pulled any one of them, but he’s not into the idea of a one-night stand like Louis is. It’s not the sex he’s against, but the idea of waking up to find that the girl’s sold her story to the press is as big a boner kill as anything.

Of course, trying not to think about how much he wants sex right now only makes him think about it more. Zayn flops over on his stomach and presses his face into the pillow, to no avail. The pressure on his dick, now sandwiched between the bed and the rest of his body, makes him aware that he’s already half-hard. Exasperated, he rolls over again onto his back. He can’t just get off right here while Harry is in his own bunk a couple feet away, especially since he’s a guest (it’s not exactly like he’s sleeping in Harry’s spare bedroom, but _still_ ).

Despite himself, Zayn finds his right hand sliding down his stomach. He hasn’t heard a peep from Harry since he got on the bus, and Harry left the party a while before Zayn and Louis did. Maybe he’s asleep. Zayn rubs the palm of his hand over his bulge and lets an almost imperceptible hiss escape through his clenched teeth. _Harry’s almost definitely asleep_ , he tells himself as he attempts to shimmy out of his trousers silently in the limited bunk space. Zayn pulls his boxers down just far enough so he can massage his cock slowly. Actually, Harry’s such a slag that he’d probably _like_ if it he knew Zayn was getting off in the next bed. Zayn’s smirk melts off his lips as he’s overcome with the heady feelings of alcohol and pleasure mixing in his brain.

At first, he manages to stay slow and quiet, but as he works up a rhythm, Zayn can’t help thrusting into his hand and losing control of his steady breathing. A gasp spills from his mouth as he feels precome leak onto his fingers. He bites his lip immediately, but the damage is already done; he hears Harry shift in his bunk before becoming still once more. With bated breath, Zayn forces himself to keep his hips still as he wets his fingers with the sticky precome and lubricates the length of his cock. The need to keep still and silent, combined with the knowledge that Harry _might_ have heard him, only serve to make Zayn even more aroused. He’s so far gone that he doesn’t hear Harry poke his head out into the small hallway between them. At least not until he whispers, “Zayn?”

The idea of being caught is a lot hotter than actually being caught, and Zayn freezes as adrenaline courses throughout his body. He hears Harry’s socked feet hit the ground lightly, and scrambles to cover his obvious hard-on with his discarded trousers.

“Zayn?” Harry asks again, a little louder.

“Harry, what’re you –” Zayn starts as Harry pulls aside Zayn’s curtain.

The shock on Zayn’s face fades as he takes in Harry, who’s holding himself a bit unsteadily. He’s just as drunk as Zayn is, if not drunker, and staring at Zayn hungrily.

“Fuck off, mate,” Zayn mumbles as he rips the curtain out of Harry’s hand and closes it again.

“Zayn,” Harry says for a third time. “Please?”

Zayn knows exactly what he’s asking; Harry’s hinted at it before several times. He’s a flirty drunk, always has a drink in one hand while the other twists around someone’s fingers or wanders down to the small of their back. But this -- this is different. Zayn’s shocked Harry’s being so forward even as drunk as they are. His untouched dick is so hard it’s starting to get painful, and he wishes he’d just gone to sleep or at least got off in the toilet instead of his bunk.

“You know I love you Harry, but I’m not gay. I seem to have to remind you of this every time we get pissed.” This is absolutely the weirdest exchange Zayn’s had in his life. He can feel the heat rising to his face, and is eternally grateful that it’s dark in the bus.

“It’s not _really_ gay if I suck you off and you close your eyes, is it? I could be anyone if you use your imagination,” Harry slurs quietly from behind the curtain. Zayn can practically hear his smirk.

Zayn is dismayed to find that Harry’s words give him a rush of excitement rather than cause his erection to wilt. It’s not the thought of Harry sucking him off, he tells himself; rather, it’s the idea of someone’s mouth wrapped around his cock again after so long. They’ve been on the road for months and Zayn needs to fuck someone’s mouth, to feel someone’s tongue running along his length, and really, really wants to come on someone’s face, although that last bit is optional. And like, is it really gay if he’s drunk and already hard and he closes his eyes and thinks about the girl with the silky black hair he danced with earlier? _No? Probably not?_

“Fuck,” he sighs, and Harry takes this as an invitation to stumble eagerly into the bed. It’s cramped, but at least this bus has bigger bunks than the ones they used to use.

“Harry, this doesn’t mean anything. It’s just, I just need –”

“Mmhm,” Harry hums distractedly, swiftly knocking Zayn’s hand and the trousers he was using to cover himself out of the way. His eyes are glued to Zayn’s cock as he begins to pump it with his hand. Zayn looks at him kneeling there between his legs, the cross necklace Harry always wears dangling off his bare chest, and Harry licks his lips and smirks back up at Zayn. He notices Harry’s own dick is tenting his pyjama bottoms and quickly squeezes his eyes shut.

Therefore he doesn’t see Harry’s pink lips stretch wide to take him in, but rather feels his hot breath on the head of his cock. He sucks air in loudly through his teeth as Harry gently bobs up and down, wetting the length of him generously with spit. Harry’s messy, but not sloppy. Zayn mentally gives him credit for his technique, especially considering how unstable he was on his feet minutes earlier.

He squeezes his eyes shut even harder and tries to stop thinking, tries to get Harry out of his head, and instead concentrates on the sensations traveling up and down his dick. He focuses very hard on the tongue and plump lips licking their way from the base to the head, the way they eagerly lap up the precome leaking from Zayn’s cock, and how they trail a circle around the base of the head…. Zayn moans and bucks his hips up towards Harry’s mouth.

Harry pulls away, but keeps massaging Zayn’s dick with his right hand. The smirk is audible when he speaks. “You fucking love this, don’t even pretend like you don’t.”

“Shut up,” Zayn gasps as his eyes flick open. “I’ve only just forgotten you’re you, and now you’ve ruined it by talking!” Harry laughs, about to take Zayn into his mouth again, but Zayn twists his hand into the hair at the back of Harry’s neck and forces him back down on his dick. Harry splutters around him, and for a second Zayn is worried he used too much force. But Harry, being Harry, goes one step further and starts to deepthroat him. Zayn’s eyes flutter shut again and he shakily sighs with pleasure.

As Harry slowly takes more and more of him, his long hair tickles Zayn’s stomach. Zayn gently gathers Harry’s curls behind his head and holds them there with one hand. When Harry hums approvingly around his cock and slowly bobs his head up and down, Zayn can’t help but guide Harry’s head with his hand. He lets Harry adjust, and then builds up a rhythm with his hips until he’s moaning and fucking Harry’s mouth uncontrollably.

Every time Zayn bottoms out against the back of Harry’s throat, he gets that much closer to orgasm. With his eyes still closed, he can feel it coming hard and fast but barely has the wherewithal to string words together. He lets go of the back of Harry’s neck, hand slippery with sweat, and manages to breathe out, “I’m gonna… fuck….”

Zayn feels Harry replace his mouth with his hand, and in the split second before he comes, he feels an overpowering urge to watch. When he opens his eyes, he locks eyes with Harry immediately, almost as if Harry knew he would look. Zayn can’t help but moan again as he watches Harry finish him off with his hand and catch his come on his tongue. Harry’s pupils are blown wide with want, and they never leave Zayn’s face as he licks all the extra come off of Zayn. Nor does Zayn look away as Harry wipes away a stray drop off his cheek and sucks it off his middle finger.

The jolt Zayn feels shoot through his body at the sight makes him press the heels of his hands to his eyes as he tries to steady his breathing. Harry waits there at the end of the bed for a moment, but when he realizes Zayn isn’t going to talk to or even look at him, he does a sort of chuckle. Zayn can’t tell if it’s meant to be amused or disappointed. Harry climbs out of the bunk and pulls the curtain closed without a word. Instead of getting into his own bunk, he heads for the toilet. _Probably to wank himself off_ , Zayn thinks, and presses his hands even harder into his eye sockets.

His ears hyperaware of every minute sound, he hears Harry open the door and then pause. “You know I was better than any girl you’ve been with,” Harry says quietly before shutting the door after him.

Zayn pretends not to hear Harry’s low moans or the whimpers he makes when he comes, and feigns a deep sleep complete with heavy, even breathing when Harry hesitates between their bunks before climbing into his own.

\--

For the next few days, Harry acts with around Zayn when the rest of the boys are around, and they don’t acknowledge what happened. But on stage, he does not hesitate to play up the sexual tension between the two of them. Harry’s constantly coming over to whisper in his ear about something inconsequential or putting his arm around Zayn and staring at him wistfully during any remotely slow songs. Two nights later, when Niall sings “You make me wanna mmmm one more night,” Harry actually grinds on Zayn’s leg for a second like he’s a fucking dog in heat. Zayn’s pretty sure he sees a couple girls in the front row burst into tears at the sight, but he’s equal amounts turned on and annoyed. It’s like Harry’s marking his territory. Gloating.

Zayn doesn’t want to bring it up though, mostly because he can’t bring himself to think about what happened long enough to form an opinion about how he feels. When he lies awake staring at the ceiling later that night, after Louis’ incessant chatter has finally ceased, he tries to think about anything but his feelings. He can acknowledge that Harry’s inhumanly beautiful; anyone can see that regardless of sexual orientation. But he’s terrified at what he might discover if he really thinks about Harry. Or the way his cock twitched when Harry stood outside his bunk practically begging to blow him. He thinks about how happy he’s always been with girls, about how Harry is like a brother to him. He thinks about the names his friends at school used to call guys they speculated were gay. He doesn’t think about how he happily came in Harry’s mouth.

 _I closed my eyes!_ Zayn thinks to himself.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from watching at the very end, a nasty voice in the back of his head answers.

I was drunk, rational Zayn counters. He’s so upset that the next day, he plans on avoiding Harry completely except for when he’s trapped on stage with him.

Therefore, Zayn finds himself quite happily ignoring even the abstract existence of Harry Styles on the way to the venue, playing video games with Louis and filling up on sweets. That is, until Bus 1 breaks down on the motorway, and management informs Zayn and Louis that they’ll need to stay in a hotel overnight and fly out to the next city while the bus is fixed. As the two haul stuffed overnight bags onto Harry’s bus to continue to the venue, Zayn ignores the flipping in his stomach and thinks excitedly about how he and Louis can have a long overdue lad’s night in: ordering expensive room service, getting a little drunk, and sneaking by the fans that would inevitably get past security to explore the hotel. Zayn lays out his plan as they climb onto Harry’s bus, but to his dismay, Louis is not having it.

When Zayn tries to convince Louis that it could be an adventure, Louis only whines. “But I like sleeping in me own bed,” he complains as he flops down on the couch next to Harry. Harry’s lounging with his hair tied back in a messy bun, seemingly too engrossed in some pretentious Penguin Classics novel to acknowledge either of them. Zayn watches the fingers on Harry’s left hand tap out a rhythm against his thigh, silver rings clinking together softly. He wishes they weren’t being so weird with each other -- they’re best mates after all -- but he makes no move to great Harry either.

“Of course it won’t be fun if you complain the whole time,” Zayn reasons as he sits on the other couch, across from Harry and Louis. He understands how the tour bus feels like home away from home to Louis, but can also appreciate the luxury of a five-star hotel every now and then. “Quit whining, because someone has to stay with me. It’ll be so boring by myself.”

“I’ll go instead,” Harry says cheerily, without even looking up from his book. Unfortunately, it seems he was paying more attention than Zayn thought.

Louis grins wide and doesn’t seem to even notice Zayn go pale.

“I’ll have the whole bus to meself tonight lads, just imagine it. I can play my music as loud as I want, leave my shit anywhere I want, maybe even bring a girl back…” he smirks.

“You act like you don’t do those things when I’m there anyway,” Zayn grumbles as he glares at Harry. Harry’s eyes flick up over his book to casually meet Zayn’s, and he raises one eyebrow. Zayn can’t tell what he’s thinking; sometimes he’s so damn hard to read.

“Yeah, but now I won’t have you there to nag at me!” Louis leans back into the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

Zayn can’t stand to look at Harry reading, or pretending to read his book, whatever, nor can he stand looking at Louis’ smug smile. Without a word, he pulls his earbuds out of his pocket and sticks them in his ears as he stretches out across the whole couch. He stares at the ceiling, trying to chill out and ignore the knots tying up his stomach. For the rest of the drive he’s so restless he can barely listen to a single song for over thirty seconds before hitting skip.

\--

After what seems like forever, the bus finally stops outside the venue. Since he can’t figure out whether he hates Louis or Harry more right now, Zayn leaves Louis on the bus where he fell asleep during the ride and declines Harry’s offer to walk with him to the hotel. Instead, he chills with Niall and Liam inside the stadium and hopes to God Harry’s left their room by the time he decides to walk over and drop off his overnight bag.

A couple hours later, Zayn steps off the lift at the top floor of the hotel and presses the key card to the reader on the wall. He slowly pokes his head inside, listening for any sound that might betray Harry’s presence. Hearing nothing, Zayn takes a few tentative steps inside. He's impressed by what appears to be the presidential suite; every surface is a shiny glass or marble-type finish. He drops his bag on the king-sized, pristinely-made bed, and begins a self-guided tour. He's humming to himself, admiring the view out the floor-to-ceiling windows past the pre-set dining table that he knows neither he nor Harry will touch, when he hears bare feet padding across the bathroom tiles behind a closed door to his left.

Zayn freezes, his heart pounding. He doesn't know whether to call out to Harry and pretend they’re okay, or tiptoe out quietly before Harry notices his presence. It's like Zayn's forgotten how to exist around him. He settles for staring at the bathroom door in terrifying anticipation.

 _Of what? Your best mate coming through the door?_ he thinks to himself.

His stomach twists as Harry does push open the door just then, wearing nothing but his cross necklace and a towel tucked loosely around him that rides low below the laurels adorning his narrow hips.

"Hey!" Harry says brightly, stopping to give his wet hair one last shake.

"Vas happenin'?" Zayn stutters out after a pause that lasts far too long. He immediately wants to slap himself in the face. What is _happening_ to him?

Harry raises his eyebrows, but grants him a good-natured smile as he passes him on his way to the bed. He's seen Harry half-naked so many times before; all the lads have. But that was different; this feels too intimate. Zayn recognizes the tightening in his stomach as the same feeling he used to get while changing for P.E. -- trying to keep his eyes focused straight ahead on the wall and not on anyone else.

Zayn’s aware that he’s just standing there like an idiot in the center of the room. He needs a smoke suddenly, needs something to do with his hands. Before he can even reach into his back pocket, Harry grabs a change of clothes from a chair Zayn hadn't noticed before and drops his towel in full view of the floor-to-ceiling windows. At least he has the decency to turn away from Zayn, but in doing so gives him an almost obscene view of his arse. Zayn wonders if he's done it on purpose as Harry bends over to pull on his black boxer-briefs, and Zayn freezes with his hand in his back pocket, watching droplets of water fall from his hair onto his broad shoulders and slide down the dip in his back onto his bum.

Zayn's thoughts are going a million miles a second, and he only knows of one way to make them stop. He finishes pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, grabs his keys and wallet off the counter, and walks briskly toward the door.

"Well, see you in a bit then," he says over his shoulder.

"Aren't you gonna wait--" Harry turns in Zayn's direction, but he's cut off by the the sound of a closing door behind him.

\--

After the concert, Zayn is buzzing. Despite his earlier misgivings about tonight, the boys sang incredibly and the energy in the stadium was tangible. Zayn will never know how to repay One Direction’s fans for their constant devotion and support, or the way they always lift him out of a bad mood. The rest of the lads clearly feel the same, as they’re all a little drunk off a mixture of vodka and adrenaline in Zayn and Harry’s hotel room.

Despite having nothing real to celebrate, an air of festivity had settled over them as they headed to the hotel to unwind before setting off for the next city. Zayn smiles as he thinks about how he’s got his lad’s night in after all; he’s made a nest for himself out of pillows and blankets next to where Niall lounges in sweats next to him, Liam and Louis are lying practically on top of each other at the food of the bed, antagonizing each other every chance they get, and Harry has draped himself, shirtless, across an armchair he dragged over next to the bed.

Zayn knows his mum would skewer him if she could see how much they’d charged room service just for alcohol. Sometimes he still feels a pang of guilt over it, but it’s hard not to splurge recklessly every once in awhile. And Harry has expensive taste.

“Right lads, are we just gonna get pissed and lay here then? How about some adventure?” Louis asks as his eyes crinkle into a smile. Liam rolls his eyes and smacks Louis’ bum while Niall just shrugs. They both look as if they do, in fact, have every intention of simply laying about. Normally Zayn would feel the same -- after all, he is sipping vodka and coke while tucked in to bed -- but tonight feels different. He’s restless.

“I’m in,” he says, raising a finger.

Louis raises an eyebrow in Harry’s direction, who’s been lazily watching the exchange from his chair. Harry looks back at Louis, then at Zayn. “I’m in,” he repeats.

“Majority rules!” Louis exclaims happily as he jumps to his feet and all but drags Liam off the bed as well. Zayn untangles himself from the sheets and joins the other four at the door leading to the hallway, where they collect themselves into a clumsy circle.

“What exactly is this adventure, then?” Harry asks, running his hand backwards through his curls. Zayn hazards a quick glance at him, but the sight of Harry’s bare chest so close makes him queasy in a way that forces him to look away.

“Glad you asked, Styles. I feel like I could go for a brisk evening walk meself.”

Zayn knows this is risky, they all do. Their security would -- and will, if they get caught -- kill them for being so reckless as to go outside without calling them. There are bound to be loads of rabid fans camped outside, waiting for a glimpse of the boys. Predictably, Liam opens his mouth to protest, but Louis covers it with his hand and tells him to “Be quiet, Dad.”

Liam gives Louis a look, but after Louis pokes his head out the door to make sure that everything is clear, he follows him past the threshold with the other three.

Zayn has to stifle an actual giggle at the way the five of them are carrying on down the hallway. Louis is in the lead, literally bouncing forward on tiptoe in an attempt to be quiet, while Niall stumbles along behind him, Liam swearing and trying to keep him upright every time Niall drunkenly knocks into him. As Zayn sniggers, Harry looks over his shoulder to flash him a blinding smile.

As they arrive at the lift in the middle of the hallway, Zayn asks, “Should we chance it? Or take the stairs?”

“It’s past midnight, I reckon we chance it. We should call the lift up and have one person check it’s empty while the rest of us stand out of sight,” Louis decides. “Which of us is least recognizable?” he asks as he sizes up the rest of the boys. “Payno, you’ve got just about the most average face I’ve ever seen, you can do the checking.”

Liam swats Louis’ head before he jams the lift’s down button. Everyone but Liam begin to back up, out of sight of anyone who might be in the elevator. Zayn collides with Harry’s bare chest with a thunk, and surprised by the sudden sensation of his whole body pressed up to Harry’s, he shoots forward and knocks into Niall, who in turn flies into Louis with a grunt. Niall and Louis are a mess of giggling limbs as they fall to the floor and scramble to right themselves.

“Shut up! You’re going to wake the entire hotel!” Liam hisses over his shoulder at them.

When the lift finally arrives, the other boys breathe a sigh of relief as Liam declares it empty. As for Zayn, he’s trying to stop thinking about the way his narrow shoulders were completely dwarfed by Harry’s broad ones. He jumps forward once more as Harry pokes him in the side and whispers “Come on!” much too close to his ear from behind.

They join the others in the lift, but as Harry, Louis, Liam, and Niall chat on the way down to the ground floor, Zayn presses himself to the back wall and leans his head against the cool metal. It’s relaxing for his skin, flushed with alcohol and adrenaline. His head is swimming -- why is he getting so weird about the silliest things?

 _I barely even touched Harry just now! I mean, that was nothing, especially compared to_ \-- Zayn derails his train of thought right there, but not fast enough to avoid the imminent mental picture of Harry licking Zayn’s come off his fingers. A shiver collects through his body and comes to settle in his dick.

Zayn is jolted from his thoughts as the doors open at the ground level and a piercing scream splits the air before any of them can take one step towards exiting the lift.

“Well lads, seems we’ve been caught!” Louis says jovially as a handful of girls who must be staying in the hotel run screaming towards them from the other side of the lobby.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Liam repeats as he stabs the close doors and basement buttons over and over again. The girls are quickly advancing; they’re thirty metres away, then fifteen….

The doors finally start to close, but not fast enough to block out one of the girls screaming, “Harry, will you bring me back up to your bedroom?” The doors shut with a thud as Louis turns to look at Harry with disgust. The latter only shrugs and looks sheepish. Zayn knows he loves it. Harry may be humble in the best way, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy being constantly hit on.

When the lift doors open once more with a clunk at the basement level, the five of them head down the hallway toward the red exit sign. Louis pushes the heavy door beneath it open, and pokes his head out. Seeing no one, he motions for the other boys to follow him outside. Louis, looking quite pleased with himself, throws his head up to look at the inky night sky and inhales deeply.

Liam casts a worried look at Niall, who is now fully leaning into Harry’s shoulder, also blinking up at the peaceful sky. “Maybe the three of us should just go back to the buses then.”

Louis is undoubtedly going to comment on how they finally have a quiet moment outside to themselves, and can they just enjoy it for once, please, Liam, when the pack of girls from the lobby rounds the corner of the building and the shrieking begins anew.

“Go! Go! Go!” Liam shouts frantically, but somehow Niall is the first to react; he’s already five strides ahead bolting for the bus. Liam is right behind, then come Zayn and Harry, and finally Louis--

“Get back to your room you fucking idiots!” Louis laughs, and too late Zayn and Harry realize they’re running in the wrong direction. Harry lets out a kind of hysterical laugh-scream and reaches out to pull Zayn back, his ringed fingers clasping Zayn’s skinny unadorned ones. Zayn’s heart starts pumping double time, and soon it’s him overtaking Harry and pulling him along, back to the door they came from, as the fans lose valuable time trying to decide which boys to chase. Eventually they decide to go for Niall, Louis, and Liam, despite Louis calling out, “We don’t really have time to talk right now girls!” It’s quite kind, considering the situation. Liam gestures wildly and shrieks for Louis to get on the bus.

Despite this, Zayn doesn’t slow down, doesn’t turn around, they’re almost there, they’re so close--

Zayn slams the door closed after he pulls in Harry, who’s giggling madly, clearly having a great time. Zayn leans against the door to catch his breath, but Harry gestures for Zayn to follow him down the hallway.

“They’ll realize they’re not getting on that bus soon, let’s get the lift back up before they come back for us,” he laughs.

“Fucking wild mate, these American girls are so...why are they so _loud_?” Zayn grumbles and runs a hand through his mussed up hair.

Once they’re back in the lift, Zayn is suddenly and painfully aware that they’re alone again. Harry doesn’t seem bothered, he’s still grinning to himself, twisting one of his many rings around his finger. Harry’s happiness is magnetic. Zayn’s never been able to look away from Harry’s infectious, wonderful smile, but he forces himself to do so now. He pulls out his mobile for something else to concentrate on, and sees a text from Louis.

“Got back safe altho I’m trapped on the other boys bus for now bc it was closer, so much for my private bus haha. niallers already asleep bless him. Wanted to pull tonight but now I can’t leave and I suppose I can’t just pick 1 girl out of the 15 camped outside can I haha. Goodnight have fun x”

 _Have fun?_ Anxiety gnaws at Zayn’s belly. Has he been obvious? Maybe Louis suspects--Stop. He forces himself to put his mobile away as the lift opens, for one final time, at the top floor. He follows Harry into the room after the other boy holds the key card up to the reader and stumbles slightly over the threshold.

Harry makes a beeline for the bottle of vodka. “Two drinks left in here; finish the other one with me, yeah?” Harry swings the bottle in Zayn’s direction by the neck as he reaches for the Coke.

Zayn wipes his sweaty palms off on his joggers and realizes he should have had a quick smoke during the couple minutes they could actually go outside. He’s too aware of what happened the last time he and Harry were drunk and alone, but he doesn’t think he will make it through sleeping in the same bed as Harry tonight if he sobers up completely.

“I’d rather do a shot,” Zayn suggests, expressionless.

“Two shots, coming up,” Harry says as he pours, overfilling one glass and spilling a bit of vodka on the table. “Cheers.”

Zayn takes his glass from Harry’s outstretched hand, but doesn’t meet his smiling eyes before knocking it back. It burns like hell as it rolls down his throat. Harry makes a show of spluttering and clutching his throat for Zayn’s benefit after swallowing his, but Zayn doesn’t laugh. Just stares at him.

“Zaynie, come on,” Harry whines as he sets his glass down and wipes his mouth on his bare forearm. “When are you gonna stop being so weird with me?” Before Zayn can process what Harry’s doing, he’s swinging himself around so his arms are wrapped around Zayn from the back, his chin resting on Zayn’s shoulder.

Without even thinking, Zayn shoulders Harry off quite roughly, much more roughly than he meant to do. “Get off, Harry!”

Harry jumps away from Zayn as if he’d been burned, and holds his hands up in a pathetic surrender. Zayn can see the hurt in Harry’s eyes, which only makes his stomach flip more rapidly than it had done when Harry touched him. Everything is wrong, and Zayn suddenly wants to peel off his own skin and disappear into nothing. It’s all too much -- Harry’s touch, the way the alcohol has blurred Zayn’s vision slightly, the way Harry smells of a mixture of cologne and a bit of boozy sweat. Zayn can feel it, the knot in his throat, the pressure behind his eyes -- the drunk tears are coming.

He sweeps past Harry, who hasn’t moved a muscle, to flop down face first on the bed. His eyes are burning from holding in the moisture threatening to spill out, so he presses his face into the pillow hard as his whole body shakes.

“Zayn, I didn’t mean to--shit.” Zayn can’t bear to hear how Harry, who can always put on a smile no matter what’s going on, who’s the most self-assured person Zayn knows, sounds like a lost little boy.

Harry climbs into bed next to Zayn but doesn’t touch him, which Zayn is thankful for. He tucks his legs underneath him, and Zayn can feel him staring although his face is still pushed into the pillow. He knows he’ll have to come up for air at some point, but right now he’s determined not to look at Harry.

“This is about what happened the other night, isn’t it?” Harry pauses to allow for a response that doesn’t come before he continues. “I figured it would be a bit weird but I didn’t think it would affect you like this.”

Zayn’s first reaction is to shout about how yeah, Harry didn’t think. Didn’t think about anything except what he wanted. But despite the ball of anxiety in his throat, the tears in his eyes, and overall just feeling like absolute shit, Zayn knows that’s unfair. He’s been a knob these past couple days, and that’s not Harry’s fault. So he summons all the strength he can muster and turns over, cocooning himself under the duvet once again.

“I’m okay,” he says, still not meeting Harry’s eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just. A little drunk and a lot overwhelmed.”

“Oh, Zaynie,” Harry sighs. “C’mere.”

He slides under the blankets as well and Zayn wiggles toward him until his head is resting on Harry’s right shoulder.

After all he’s felt the past couple of days, Zayn expects to feel awkward and uncomfortable. Instead, he just feels safe. Cared for. He wipes his eyes. “When did you know?” he blurts out.

Zayn immediately wants to hide his face again, but Harry answers immediately, as if he anticipated them having this conversation. “Always, I guess?”

He angles his head to look at Zayn, and instead of looking away, Zayn finally meets his eyes.

“Like, you know when you were in reception and there was a girl you always wanted to be around, and you couldn’t really put a name to that feeling yet because you were so young?” Zayn nods. “Yeah, well. I always had that with boys too. I wasn’t shy about it either. My teachers didn’t really know what to do with me.”

Harry smiles and squeezes Zayn’s arm reassuringly. Zayn smiles back; he can picture five-year-old Harry being as big of a flirt as he is now, the kid all the boys and girls want to play with. Harry’s touch feels electric on his skin. It’s overwhelming, but at the same time, he wants more. He wants to press his whole body against him and never leave.

“I never felt like that though,” Zayn says, shifting his focus away from Harry’s face to the wall. “I’ve always liked girls. Just because I liked...what you did doesn’t change that. I can’t be gay.”

Harry immediately yanks his arm and shoulder out from underneath Zayn, leaving him to bounce against the mattress. “Zayn! How many times do I have to explain this to you? Liking men doesn’t mean you’re gay. There is such a thing as bisexuality. That’s what I am, and that’s probably what you are.” Harry pauses. “Don’t try to hide your feelings behind the idea that you’re not a hundred percent gay. I know that’s what you’re trying to do.”

Zayn’s cheeks grow hot and he continues to stare at the wall in shame. It’s embarrassing that yes, that’s exactly what he was doing, but also that Harry seems to know what’s going on in his head better than he does himself.

When Zayn doesn’t say anything for a minute, Harry starts again. “I’m here for you anyway though. You know that, right?” He reaches over, presses his palm to the far side of Zayn’s cheek so he can turn his face back to him. Zayn can feel Harry’s warm breath against his cheek, and suddenly it’s like he’ll be trapped in those emerald eyes forever. “We’re like brothers, all of us, yeah? Well, you and me… we’re not like brothers, because… you know. But... yeah,” Harry chuckles and leans over to press a chaste kiss to Zayn’s forehead.

Zayn can’t stop himself; he reaches up to catch Harry’s face in his hand before he can settle himself back against the pillows. Zayn watches Harry’s eyes search his face, flicking from his eyes, to his mouth, to his throat, and back up to his eyes. Zayn holds his gaze as his fingers trace Harry’s sharp jawline, and as his thumb rubs across Harry’s plump bottom lip, Harry looks like he’s truly been caught off guard for once in his life.

Just like that, Harry is leaning forward to press his lips to Zayn’s. Zayn knows this isn’t how Harry usually kisses. He’s seen him snogging blokes at clubs and parties before; he’s always rough and needy, hands in hair, backed up against a wall, using his whole body to throw himself into a kiss. But this, this is how Zayn used to imagine his first kiss being when he was a kid. Year seven, spur of the moment, uncertainty, softness. Kissing the best friend he’d had a crush on forever in the tree house he imagined his dad would have built for him if they’d have lived in the country.

Harry’s full, smooth lips envelop Zayn’s slightly chapped ones, and Zayn realizes this is better than that old daydream. He lets his eyelids flutter closed, and presses back against Harry’s mouth, thinking that it’s not so different anyway. After all, this is a first; it might not be Zayn’s first kiss ever, but it’s his first with Harry, certainly his first with a guy, and this king-sized bed at the top of a hotel Zayn doesn’t even know the name of is kind of like their own fort. The fort they’ve constructed themselves after five long years. Two northern teenage nobodies, destined somehow to crash into each other’s lives.

Zayn’s glad that Harry wiggles a bit closer but doesn’t try to touch any part of him but his lips. Anyone else might interpret this as a lack of desire, but Zayn knows Harry’s giving him his space so he can get used to the newness of this. He continues to hold Harry’s face as he kisses him softly, enjoying the taste of coke and a slight hint of mint on Harry’s tongue.

They exchange lazy kisses for what feels like forever, watching each other's’ lips involuntarily morph into smiles any time they stop touching. Finally, Harry threads his fingers through Zayn’s and mumbles that he’s sleepy. “Can I be your little spoon?” he asks eagerly.

Zayn rolls his eyes at Harry’s request. After all, Harry is a couple inches taller than him and definitely broader at the shoulders and hips.

“Course you can, babe.” Zayn tucks his arm around Harry’s bare, but incredibly warm torso as Harry turns away from him.

Harry is almost immediately dead to the world, as always. Normally Zayn would lie awake for almost an hour before sleeping, unable to shut his brain off and stop overthinking things. Tonight, though, he doesn’t think about anything. Harry’s filled him up with warmth like a large mug of hot cocoa. It does take him a while to fall asleep though, as Harry’s long curls keep finding themselves in Zayn’s mouth, up his nose, and tickling his neck every time Harry fidgets in his sleep. That as well as Harry elbowing him in the ribs every five minutes would be extremely irritating if Harry weren’t so endearing. Finally, though, he manages to drift off.

\--

All Zayn is aware of is that he feels so good, _so_ fucking good, like he hasn't in days. His head is so hazy that he probably couldn’t think about anything else even if he wanted to. He suppresses a moan and lets himself be overcome by enjoying the pressure on his cock. Suddenly, it disappears, and he thrusts his hips forward until it returns and provides some relief.

"Zayn!" someone yelps, and Zayn sits straight up, disoriented. He blinks once, twice, and his eyes adjust enough for him to realize he's still in the dark hotel room. With Harry, who's rolled away from him, looking adorably sleepy yet confused.

"Shit," Zayn says, scootching back against the headboard and covering his crotch with the duvet. "Fuck Harry, I'm sorry." If the lights were on, Harry would have been able to see his face turning bright red. Really, a wet dream the first time he sleeps in bed with a guy intimately? _What am I, twelve?_

Instead of looking embarrassed, Harry has that stupid smirk on his face. "Were you dreaming about me?"

"I don't...I don't remember," Zayn mumbles, fidgeting with the edge of the duvet. He dick is still painfully hard underneath it, but right now he'd rather evaporate than think about that, or the fact that Harry catching him with his dick out seems to be becoming a pattern.

"Come on Z, you can tell me." And then Harry is swinging himself over Zayn to straddle his lap. "Was I sucking your cock again or was I fucking you into this mattress?" he asks as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down Zayn's neck. Zayn holds his breath as Harry sinks his teeth in and sucks hard enough to bruise. Zayn lets it out with a huff at the mix of sensations when Harry pulls off and licks around the mark. Harry's hot breath on his skin makes him shiver, and Zayn wraps one hand around the small of his back and tangles the other in his curls to draw him in closer. He pulls Harry's face up level with his.

When they kiss this time, it's nothing but delicate. It's ravenous, nasty, both of them trying to devour each other. Harry licks into Zayn's mouth and whimpers softly as he grinds down on Zayn. Harry's so close that Zayn can feel him getting hard against his stomach. He enjoys himself exploring Harry's torso; while of course he's seen it before, he’s never been able to touch it like this -- running his hands over Harry's tattoos and strong arms, making Harry gasp every time his fingertips brush over his nipples.

Harry’s kisses don't slow or lessen in intensity, but he doesn't make a move to go any further. It’s strange, because Zayn knows he's not usually one for hesitation when it comes to sex. Tired of waiting, Zayn hooks his finger through the elastic waistband of Harry's bottoms and moves to pull them down.

"Zayn!" Harry says abruptly, much more loudly than necessary, considering that they’re practically on top of each other.

"What?" Zayn says at almost the same time.

Harry sits back on top of Zayn's legs. "Are you sure?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like, I know we kind of did this already, and I was saying that stuff before, but if you're still drunk I don't think…” he trails off with a frown. “Anyway it's different this time because we’ve been kissing, and this is new for you so we’re moving kind of fast, and--”

“Harry,” Zayn cuts him off with a smile. “You’re not even making any sense. I’m not drunk anymore though, I slept it off. And I appreciate your concern but I want this. With you. Like, I still don’t know how really I feel and I’m not exactly going to ring up me mum tomorrow to discuss it with her... but with you it’s different. It’s okay.” He pulls Harry in for another deep kiss, which Harry enthusiastically returns. “The only thing is, I just...I don’t know how...I’ve never…” Zayn frowns, embarrassed for what seems like the fifteenth time today.

Harry hums into Zayn’s mouth. “‘M gonna take care of you,” he whispers between kisses, as Zayn pulls him back into his lap, hands around Harry’s waist. “Wanna be inside me?” he breathes into Zayn’s ear. Zayn’s cock twitches in response, and Harry grinds down on it, making Zayn groan. “Yeah? That what you want?”

Zayn nods dumbly in response, but Harry’s weight disappears off him almost immediately. He’s rooting around in his bag on the floor. “Lube,” he says over his shoulder, as Zayn barely manages to catch the bottle Harry tosses before it hits him in the head. “Do we need a condom? I know I’m clean but if you feel more comfortable using one I have some.”

“You’re the only person my dick’s been in recently mate. I don’t care.” He feels desperate to have Harry on top of him again; it’s all Zayn can do to not to start touching himself. “Again, I appreciate your concern, but get back on this bed right fucking now.”

Harry grins. “If you’re so impatient why do you still have clothes on? Lay down, make yourself comfortable.” Zayn feels Harry’s eyes on him as he removes first his shirt, then slides down the bed to take off his bottoms and pants. When Harry drops his own, he feels his heart jump into his throat. Almost anyone who’s ever met Harry has seen him starkers at some point or another, but Zayn’s never seen him in a context like this, that’s for sure. His eyes are glued to Harry’s erection, which is almost terrifyingly large, as he makes his way back onto the bed and straddles Zayn once more, centering himself over his stomach this time. Harry laughs at the expression on Zayn’s face and snatches the lube out of his hand.

Zayn expects Harry to lube up his dick, not his own fingers, and Harry must read the confusion on his face when he does the latter. He leans forward, gives Zayn a quick kiss on the nose, and explains, “Gotta get myself ready for you first.”

To say Zayn is unprepared for the show he gets next is an understatement. Harry sits back on his knees, still straddling Zayn, and reaches behind to slide one finger inside himself. He sighs, closing his eyes and biting his lip as his cheeks redden, and Zayn thinks he’s never seen anything more obscenely beautiful. When he works in another finger, Harry throws his head back and whimpers. Zayn watches in awe as Harry scissors his fingers open with one hand and runs the other through his hair, mussing up his already disheveled curls. Dumbly, Zayn slides his hands up Harry’s thighs and digs his fingernails into the soft flesh before dragging them back down again. This elicits a hiss from Harry, who snaps his eyes back open as he realizes what’s about to happen.

“You ready?” he asks, and it’s Zayn’s turn to hiss when Harry shuffles backward and strokes him a couple times to apply more lube.

“Yeah, go on,” Zayn just barely manages to choke out. He places his hands on Harry’s waist to guide him as Harry begins to sink slowly down onto Zayn’s cock. Agonizingly slowly, in Zayn’s opinion, but he knows that if Harry did it any faster, the fun would be over because he’d probably come right then and there. The sensation of being inside another man is overwhelming; Zayn had had loads of experience with vaginas, but this was something else. Harry was stretched so tight around him, he felt like the tiniest movement would render him incapable of coherent thought.

For a minute, Zayn and Harry stay like that, motionless, panting, staring, getting used to each other.

“I’ve wanted this for ages, you know that, yeah?” Harry says into the silence.

Harry moves first; when he starts to ride Zayn, Zayn has to grip onto his hips for dear life. The feeling is one thing -- the way Harry is slowly rolling his hips is nastily pornographic -- but the way Harry looks while doing it is quite another. After all these years of fame and cameras, Harry doesn’t know how _not_ to put on a show anymore. And that’s okay, Zayn thinks, because he was made for this. The noodly quality of Harry’s ridiculous dance moves on stage somehow translate into a fluidity of movement in bed that Zayn knows he could never match. As Harry bounces on top of Zayn, his necklace slapping his chest and dick leaking with precome, he seems lost in himself. He covers one of Zayn’s hands on his hip with his own and lets his eyes flutter shut. He throws his head back amid breathy moans and presses the palm of his other hand into the mattress for leverage. “God, you’re so fucking thick,” he pants. Zayn wants to bite the hell out of Harry’s exposed neck, wants to be inside him forever, wants to make him _his_ , but for now all he can do is watch and let the pleasure roll over him in waves.

Although Zayn’s rocking his hips up to meet Harry a bit, it’s Harry that’s doing the most work. As Zayn gets comfortable, he gets hungry for more -- he wants to hear his name slip out of those pink wet lips, puffy from all the kissing. He spits into his palm and reaches out tentatively to stroke Harry’s length.

Harry’s whole body jerks forward with the sensation, as his eyes open wide and he moans even louder. Zayn feels him adjust his rhythm so that he’s both fucking down onto Zayn’s cock and into Zayn’s hand. At Harry’s reaction, Zayn gains more confidence.

“Fuck, Zayn, fuck me, oh my god, so good,” the words tumble out of Harry’s mouth between desperate, delicate moans. Zayn feels pleased with himself for his first time, doing to Harry everything he knows feels good for himself. He rubs his thumb along Harry’s tip, satisfied when Harry’s whole body twitches and his breath sounds like it’s been punched out of him. But after they’ve been at it for a bit, he can feel Harry’s strong thigh muscles start to quiver as a sheen of sweat settles over his skin from the effort.

“You tired babe?” Zayn asks, and Harry nods.

“A little, but--oh fuck,” he groans, and doesn’t slow down as he hits a good spot.

Zayn reaches forward to slide his hands over Harry’s firm little arse for leverage, and grunts as he begins to thrust into Harry hard. Harry, looking like he’s about to come apart at the seams, falls forward and steadies himself with his arms upon Zayn’s chest, their torsos almost parallel.

The noises that fall from Harry’s mouth as Zayn continues to fuck into him are unintelligible save for his own name, but serve as an incentive to not let up. He grips Harry’s hips so tightly it must hurt, and just lets Harry take it. As he hits Harry’s prostate over and over, Harry scrunches his eyes closed and whines, but Zayn’s gaze never leaves Harry’s face. His head starts to go fuzzy so he knows he’s close, and the way Harry’s whimpers are getting more urgent as his cock leaks onto Zayn’s stomach indicate that he is too.

Harry leans down to kiss him sloppily, and as Harry moans into his mouth Zayn can feel him come without being touched. When he feels Harry go slack as ribbons of warm liquid spread across his stomach, he lets his own orgasm take over.

For a minute, neither of them move as they ride their high back down to earth and catch their breath. When Zayn finally pulls out, he expects Harry to come closer for a kiss. Instead, Harry moves down the bed and gives Zayn that trademark smirk.

“Jesus Christ Harry,” Zayn breathes as Harry starts to clean Zayn’s stomach up with his tongue, never breaking eye contact. The fact that he doesn’t swallow is enough to make Zayn want to go for another round. He does crawl back up to give Zayn a kiss, but it’s significantly dirtier than what Zayn had had in mind. Harry’s tongue makes its way into Zayn’s mouth as they kiss lazily, passing spit and come back and forth until Harry finally swallows.

Zayn pulls away slightly and gives Harry a light shove. “You’re fucking disgusting, Styles,” he laughs as he wipes a stray drop of Harry’s come from his bottom lip. “And that tastes fucking disgusting too.”

Harry pouts. “You’re the first person to tell me they don’t like the way my come tastes.”

“Do you pull that move with everyone you sleep with?”

“No!” Harry exclaims, looking seriously indignant.

All Zayn can do is laugh.

\--

After getting cleaned up and having a glass of water, Zayn is once again the big spoon. He groans into Harry. “I can’t believe it’s already five in the morning when we’ve got to get up early to fly out,” he grumbles.

"I love you," Harry responds immediately.

"Oh, Harold," Zayn sighs sleepily and presses a kiss between Harry's shoulder blades. He feels Harry tense slightly at his touch and pulls him closer. "What's wrong babe?"

"You're supposed to say it back," Harry whispers.

Zayn smiles into Harry's skin and traces his lips up Harry's back, tickling his neck slightly until he squirms. "I thought you already knew."

Harry's body relaxes in his arms as Zayn keeps placing kisses up and down his neck.

"I wanna hear you say it anyway!" Harry whispers impatiently.

"I love you Harry, I always have. Even if I didn't really want to admit what that meant until tonight."

Harry snuggles closer into Zayn and takes one of his hands in his own, bringing it up to his mouth. Harry presses a kiss to it, and butterflies erupt in Zayn’s stomach as he feels Harry’s smile against his palm.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this with no intention of publishing it and it's the first fic I've ever written so be nice :~) Come say hello at amstandsforaftermalik.tumblr.com (unless you know me, in which case pretend you never saw this...)


End file.
